


With you in a foreign land

by Kuro_Ko



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, I just wanted to write them in love, honestly I don't know what's going on her, we don't beta we die like odessa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26669278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuro_Ko/pseuds/Kuro_Ko
Summary: The first thing Dorothea noticed about her was the purple mark under her right eye that matched the shade of her vibrant hair. Petra Macneary, the Brigid princess, the foreign student that was royalty with no crest and walked among nobles and common folk alike.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	With you in a foreign land

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw some AMAZING art on twitter and basically just wrote this in a whim. I love these two so so so much!
> 
> Find the art [here](https://twitter.com/chuminder/status/1309892995521617920?s=20). You can find me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/KuroKR_)!
> 
> Not much else to say... I hope you liked it!

The first thing Dorothea noticed about her was the purple mark under her right eye that matched the shade of her vibrant hair. Petra Macneary, the Brigid princess, the foreign student that was royalty with no crest and walked among nobles and common folk alike.

She was a stranger one, Dorothea had thought, or maybe just different. Petra looked at her and smiled.

Her smile was gorgeous.

That was okay, right? Petra was bound to be different if she had been born and raised in a country in the middle of the ocean so far away from Fódlan and all of its traditions and problems. Dorothea knew better than to show a displeased pout at the thought of it.

Maybe she would’ve been happier if she had been born in Brigid, but then again, she knew nothing of the struggles they had to face so far away. In the end, only the daughter of a land she may never set foot on was next to her, in the heart of Fódlan, studying by the grace of the Imperial family and the Imperial princess.

Royalty among royalty.

Dorothea was just a stranger. An impostor walking with enough confidence to seem as she belonged, a sham she had known how to mask to make it look like she was one of them. A commoner among nobles that didn’t know the struggles of those who were bound to the streets, of those who had little to claim as their own and so much to lose by the whim of the power that kept their fate in their hands.

Petra’s quill was quick and her handwriting neat. Her forearm muscles danced at the light that shone through the high windows in the classroom. Dorothea noticed how her mark moved with each expression, a declaration of intentions, a statement to the world from somebody that would never hide from it.

Petra Macneary, the Brigid princess, prisoner of war of the Imperial family, was next to her and her kindness had been a haven Dorothea had taken shelter in.

“Dorothea, I am not in understanding.” She tilted toward her, pushing the open book she had been taking notes from to her. “What is the meaning of this word?” Dorothea leaned in with a smile. So dutiful, so dedicated, so thoughtful. Petra didn’t let anything to chance, mindfully training and studying. Honing herself each day, sharpening the blade of her sword, the edge of her words, the acuity of her mind.

Dorothea admired her.

Dorothea admired her and something more.

Yet, the songstress had her own goals and her own dreams to fulfill, right? She had touched rock bottom so many years ago. She knew what it was to be alone in the world, she knew what it was to be consumed by desperation and hunger.

She knew hunger and abandonment.

Dorothea had sworn to herself to never fall victim to it again. No matter the cost, no matter the situation, she would never be so helpless ever again. Even if that meant she was to play the role of someone else, even if that meant she had to wear a custom each day and try to blend it into her skin until the mask and the flesh were one and not even her was to tell apart her true essence from the one she had carefully crafted to fit among the nobles in the monastery.

Power, so elusive for commoners, would be secured for her to live a normal, carefree life. Enough for her to never worry about going back to the streets again.

Alone.

Hungry.

Never again.

Petra took her dictionary and thumbed through it quickly, the pages were already worn out by the constant use. Her intricated braids had a distinctive luster as she nodded and read, going back to her book and scribbling quickly to follow up the lesson the professor was giving them in their never-changing blank expression. Her violet mark moved ever so slightly.

Dorothea caught her sigh as she looked at Petra’s profile, deep admiration filling her chest and her heart.

And something more she didn’t want to see and decided to ignore for now.

They had their paths cut ahead for them. Different responsibilities, different mindsets, different goals.

They could be friends, they could be close, they could lean in each other and trust their secrets to be kept and held close. Yes.

Of course.

But, at the end of the day, both of them would have a different role to fulfill and a different tale to tell.

Dorothea looked at Petra once more.

She wasn’t to reach what wasn’t meant to her, she thought. She was to marry a powerful enough noble and be done with it, living her life to the best of her ability despite the shitty cards life had handled her from the deck.

Petra would go away eventually, their academy days a sweet memory to visit, and Dorothea a good friend to reach through letters.

Nothing more.

Nothing more.

Until, of course, the raging fire of war sparked, and suddenly, their destinies were shuffled and the cards were back to the deck to be handed again once more.

* * *

Her hands were warm and strong, cover in callouses and old scars that drew a map she could learn to follow in white, a color that was a contrast to her tanned skin. So careful as she wiped the tears from her cheeks away.

She was beautiful, strong, untamable.

Unreachable.

The Queen of Brigid, her friend, her comrade in arms, the one that held her close after long battles were enemies hid under friendly faces and she was forced to kill the ones she once had called friends and classmates, was unreachable.

Untamable.

She was the ocean wind before the storm, the salt-scented breeze that announced the change of seasons and blew the sailor’s ships back home.

Petra was royalty, different, foreign, exotic even. Petra walked with an air nobody could replicate, as if the world was hers to conquer and explore and discover, she sat at the table with Edelgard and Hubert and her voice never wavered and her opinions were heard and considered.

Petra was royalty not for her crest, which she didn’t possess, but for the sheer power of her presence and her deeds.

Under the sun in Garreg Mach, she looked like a predator ready to spring and kill with grace, her aim always true, her sword lighting, her foes mere obstacles in her way.

And yet.

And yet.

And yet, she held her close, she whispered soft words in her ear and rocked her in strong arms when the weight of the world was so heavy upon her shoulders Dorothea could feel her very bones cracking and her will failing and her life flickering. Like now, where her left hand graced her cheeks and her worried eyes looked for injuries other than the ones her soul had received over and over again.

“I’m sorry, Petra dear, I’m just… tired of fighting, I’m sick of this war.”

“You have not to be sorry, Dorothea. You will always be welcome by my side if crying is needed.” The cracking of fires that were finally starting to dye out seemed to add a deeper tone to Petra’s voice. Her right hand still clung to her sword, chipped and tainted by their enemy’s blood.

The fight had been long, had been cruel, and had been fierce. They had teamed up to bring down any foe that was stood in their way. Dorothea had run her magic thin, ragged to the point of exertion where her vision was blurry and her knees unsure and her aim barely enough to strike pegasi and wyverns from the sky in a crack of thunder and fire that had burned the very air. The beasts and their riders falling to the earth in the final graceless flight they would ever take. Petra had made sure no one would ever get close to the mage, spinning around as if she were dancing, her movements swift as water, her sword sharp as steel.

When just the Empire forces remained and Edelgard raised her axe victoriously, Dorothea had fallen to the ground, her energy completely gone, Petra next to her had taken a seat, panting, ragged breaths to recover just enough energy to make it back to camp and start their never-ending tasks.

“You will be fine, Dorothea. You have me. When this war is over, we can go to Brigid and I will be teaching you to braid your hair. I will be showing you the shoreline and the spirits that are living in the land.” Petra said, her fingers trembled, her muscles twitched, her expression was painfully soft and worried.

Petra was a Queen and Dorothea was nothing but an imposter. She had lied to herself when she thought she didn’t need anything else but money to live a simple life. She had lied to herself when she thought she had seen the worst of war.

She had lied to herself when she thought she could be just friends with someone so extraordinary like Petra. Somebody that had been so open and kind and honest with her and she had repaid only with grief and empty words she didn’t know she had in her.

“Petra…”

“When the war is over. When we win, please be coming with me back to Brigid.” Petra smiled; she was gorgeous.

She was so gorgeous.

“I am wanting to teach you the words of my people. I am wanting to show you the place I was born in. I am wanting to walk with you on Brigid at least once.” It was a request easy to grant and yet Dorothea was afraid to reach out for more.

Could she reach out for more?

Could she be as Edie said an eagle and soar to the sky when the wind of change blew right under them? Could she ride it back to a place she didn’t know in an attempt to understand the woman she didn’t want to admit to herself she loved?

Petra’s mark was soft, she had learned to read her expression through its movements as easy as her open and honest eyes.

Her smile a fearful one, fearing rejection and still exposing herself.

Petra was brave, and for her, Dorothea wished to be brave too.

She took the hand that was in her cheek and kissed her knuckles.

That was an answer as good as any, and better than the one she couldn’t trust to her voice, too broken to answer.

* * *

The shoreline, the ocean, the never-ending sky of Brigid.

The very landscape was alive, vibrant, a gloss crafted by the sun that kissed the land every day, a faithful lover who would never miss a day to see their dear one.

Petra was with her, her body relaxed, her head nestled in her shoulder and neck. She was with Dorothea and her breathing was even and her expression happy. Petra was with the one she loved.

Dorothea had been brave and had reached for more, she had soared under the wind of that ocean breeze and had landed in a better place she could’ve ever dreamed of. She had trusted the Queen of Brigid and her answer had been a limitless love, a promise of kindness and smiles and soft kisses that were salty and sweet and open, soft, and warm like the land she started to call her own.

Petra had called her in her own language, had spoken the true words from her heart and had, with a smile, taken Dorothea’s hand to walk with her on the shoreline of a land that wasn’t hers, on a country that wasn’t hers, on a culture that was completely foreign to her.

And yet.

And yet.

With her, she had learned that the true call of her heart had been a simple petition, a single word.

She had yearned for love. She had yearned for love from herself, from others, love for the real Dorothea, the one that had escaped the streets of Enbarr, the one that had faced struggles no one could even talk about, the one that had decided she needed to wear on a mask and put up a role to never be left alone again.

She had yearned for love, to be loved for who she was and what she was. Petra had loved her, with a smile and a promise she had loved her.

Petra, on that shore, looking at the setting sun, loved her, and that was everything she could ever need in the world.

For they were in love and the war had ended and the world had moved a little bit more and now, in her hands, the cards that life had handed her were something she comfortable with and was able to play with.

For they were in love and the world had changed.

And Dorothea Arnault just needed Petra Macneary.

Nothing more.


End file.
